


Acclimation

by Kestrealbird



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: M/M, Smut, a lot of dubious morality, but it's Certainly Here, manipulation? maybe?, scourge as lube, the sex isnt graphic enough to be explicit, verstael is fucked up
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-24
Updated: 2019-04-24
Packaged: 2020-01-31 11:16:20
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,151
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18590152
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kestrealbird/pseuds/Kestrealbird
Summary: Ardyn had acclimated so perfectly - so seamlessly - that Verstael had never thought to question when he began answering to the accursed instead of the opposite. Such a change in their dynamics...it was fascinating to him.





	Acclimation

**Author's Note:**

> Highkey I'm really proud with how this turned out. I don't have anything to say for myself to defend this dynamic either lmao

_This is a bad idea,_ Verstael thinks, backed up as he is against his desk, mind hazy and breaths laboured. He’s had a lot of bad ideas over the years, some worst than others, and this one isn’t even in the top ten of the questionable morality scale, but it’s definitely bad.

Anyone could walk in and see this - see _him_ , kneeling on the ground, mouth stretched into a grin around Verstael’s dick, auburn hair falling loosely into eyes tinged just so with black. It’s been a year since they brought him here. A year of Verstael digging around his insides, pulling and learning and almost drinking the scourge that pours out of every wound, staining his knives and scalpels.

A year of Ardyn reading books and learning - following Verstael until _he’s_ the one that’s leading, strides long and confident, coat billowing around him and fedora low over his eyes. How did Verstael, for all his scientific achievements, never notice that difference until he was shoved into this office, a tongue parting his teeth with little resistance, hands digging almost painfully into his thighs, bruising his skin where Ardyn forces him harshly into the edge of the table.

Ardyn had acclimated so perfectly - so _seamlessly_ \- that Verstael had never thought to question when he began answering to the accursed instead of the opposite. Such a change in their dynamics...it was fascinating to him. He wanted, desperately, to breathe - to push Ardyn back and _demand_ space so he could pick apart all previous interactions and try to pinpoint exactly _when_ things began to change, but then Ardyn’s tongue does something wonderful, a flick, perhaps a sliver, diving deep into his slit, scourge spilling hot over his skin and all thoughts cease, smothered by his own gasps, loud in an otherwise empty room.

He isn’t proud of how loud he’s being, not in the slightest, but seeing _Ardyn_ , the _accursed_ , kneeling between his legs, hands splayed across his thighs, thumbs circling his hips? Verstael dares any lesser man not to lose himself in the imagery.

It reminds him, maddeningly, of the erotic paintings that King Somnus used to commission of himself, and he wonders if Ardyn knows about them; wonders if this is just another way for him to mock his brother, or if it’s all of his own design.

Verstael’s hands clenched into the table’s wood, fingers scraping off splinters, a harsh cry on his lips as the scourge bubbles and hisses on his aroused skin, making him buck into Ardyn’s disgusting, vulgar mouth as if it was what he was made to do.

 _Too slow_ , his mind buzzes, dizzying and hazy, _always too slow._ Why does this man have to be so torturous and cruel, dragging Verstael along in this dance of rebellion and fire, stringing him like a puppet as he wrenches shouts and curses from Verstael’s kiss-swollen lips.

“Get on with it,” he gasps for what feels like the tenth time of the hour. Ardyn laughs around the girth in his mouth, eyes flicking to the unlocked door, amused and obvious. Verstael doesn’t care. He growls out _something,_ a plea, maybe a beg, whatever it is Ardyn finally complies, sliding his mouth off of Verstael’s cock with an obscene sound, trailing his tongue with snake-like movements, never once breaking eye-contact.

Verstael is allowed to slide to the floor, chest heaving, sweat sticking to his brow. Ardyn makes little show of divesting his clothing; it’s quick and simple, baring all for Verstael’s eyes to see. There’s so much scourge spreading over him, leaking out of him, god how long has he been like this, waiting and preparing for Verstael to turn weak for him?

Ardyn places a hand near his head and another by his hip, whether for balance or dominance he can’t be sure, but they both hiss when Ardyn lowers himself onto Verstael’s cock, twisting his hips for a better angle, his own come leaking black and thick.

They look a mess, Verstael’s sure, and the door creaks just a little. Neither of them are distracted by it.

“You told me you had some experience in this area, darling.” Ardyn laughs, low and short, grunting as he spreads himself the lower he goes.

When did Verstael tell him that? It was weeks ago, surely, yet he still remembers? How long has he been planning this, then, if at all?

“Some, yes,” Verstael agrees, breathless, testing whether he’s allowed to move. He is. Ardyn’s eyes flutter when he does. “But not as much as you might be hoping for.”

Ardyn kisses him slow; spills bitterness into his mouth, rocks his hips to make them both moan. “I hope for nothing,” he grunts. “I simply want whatever you can give me.”

That’s a dangerous line. He’s not just talking about sex. Verstael’s not sure what else he can give, outside of clones and plans too idealistic for the masses, but if it means keeping Ardyn here, for his observations and his sick desires and needs?

“Anything,” he says, “anything at all and it will be yours.”

Verstael is a scientist, this much is true, but he has no loyalty to this empire, not really. His loyalties lie in whoever can give him what he _needs_ for his research, and Ardyn can offer all that and _more._ He would be a fool not to take this opportunity. He wants to see what Ardyn will do, where he will go and how far he will drag this world down with him.

And Ardyn takes from him, again and again until they are both screaming, so loud that it’s impossible for no-one to hear them. He takes as much as Verstael can offer, and then he takes some more - cruel and unrelenting, caring only of himself yet not _once_ does Verstael try to stop him.

Predictably, oh so predictably, he laughs when it is over. They both do, really, though Verstael’s is louder, head thrown back, his body shaking with each sound he makes. The scourge sinks into his skin, a claim, a promise, and so many other things besides. Ardyn doesn’t leave, simply watches, amused and intrigued as Verstael’s madness takes hold.

Verstael laughs because he cannot believe that he ever deluded himself into thinking he could be in charge of this man. Ardyn has been planning this ever since Verstael freed him from his prison, and it’s just so obvious now, is all. The Emperor has no idea what’s been unleashed in these halls.

The bitterness on Verstael’s tongue tastes sweeter than any fruit or pastry; an acquired taste, to be sure. He wants more of it.

“I’ll give you _everything,_ ” he repeats, stressing the words to give them meaning. Ardyn knows. He _always_ knows.

Ardyn’s grin was cruel, but his smile is _vicious._ “I know you will, my dear. After all, how could you _ever_ say no to me?”


End file.
